Because You Never Get Second Chances -- Part Six & Epilogue
Title: Because You Never Get Second Chances
Fandom: Gravitation
Pairings: mainly Eiri/Shuichi, Shuichi/OC, Hiro/Ayaka, Yuji/Suguru, Tatsuha/Maiko
Rating: R, for content and language
Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH
A/N: IT'S FINISHED. Oh God, I can't believe it's actually finished. Part Six is actually the shortest chapter of them all. XD
Part Six: The Right Thing; or, what simply has to be done-
Ahmed was practicing with the band when Shuichi called. He was sweaty and talked excitedly about the new song they’d been working on, how they couldn’t wait for Shuichi to come back and learn it. And he’d apologized for being a jerk earlier, but said that he still thought Shuichi should concentrate more on the relationship he had in the present than on the one he had in the past. Shuichi didn’t say anything and eventually they were both silent, and Ahmed was getting worried.
“What’s going on, baby?” He asked, easing the nervousness out of his voice. “You coming home soon?”
“No,” Shuichi said after a pause. “Not really.”
“Oh. Well,” Ahmed sighed, trying to be cooperative. “That’s all right, I guess. We-”
“I don’t think,” Shuichi interjected quickly, and then hesitantly, “I’m coming back at all.”
Ahmed’s body stiffened and his pulse started to quicken with a feeling of dread and rejection.
“Why-why not? Is it something I…--why not?”
“I just…I have something I have to do, and I-”
“Well, why can’t you do it and then come home? Huh? Why not?” His voice was increasing in volume, and he could feel his band mates’ eyes on him.
“Because I can’t, okay, it isn’t that easy!”
“So what-what about the wedding?” He waited and waited for an answer, chest heaving, until he squeezed his eyes shut and smacked at his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Well-shit, fuck you!”
“Ahmed-”
“Fuck you!”
He closed his phone and threw it across the room. His band mates watched him crumple to his knees and they figured that practice was over for the day.
-
Shuichi slowly set his cell phone down on the coffee table, his leg shaking anxiously.
“Don’t-” He stopped and cleared his throat; his voice was too shaky and broken for his liking. He started again, “Don’t act like you aren’t happy I did that.”
He felt a cold brush against the side of his face in response. It encouraged him, and he took a deep breath, gathering his courage. He stood up quickly, forcing himself to move while he still had this resolve. He made his way, a little unsteadily, to the bathroom, shaking and fumbling and urgent fingers flinging open the medicine cabinet. He took a minute to locate the row of orange pill bottles, glanced over the labels, breathing in and out with a bit of a raspy strain. Desperation crept into his body then, rushing from his sock-clad toes to his hands, which quickly set to work grabbing the bottles and grappling, twisting the tops open, tilting the bottles onto his lips, tossing the pieces of white and red and brown onto his tongue, into his throat, missing a few in hastiness that tumbled down his neck and bounced off his shoulders. He didn’t know what pills they were and he didn’t care, as long as they would make him sick, sicker than he’d ever been before; as long as they would destroy him inside bit by bit, faster and faster-destroy all the parts, all the tangible parts, that hadn’t already been destroyed by time and English whispers in his ear.
When he finished, he scrambled to the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator door and grabbed each can of beer, one by one, popping open the tops and forcing himself to swallow the stinging, numbing, frothing alcohol. He dropped the last can to the floor before it was completely empty; he needed both hands, one to clutch at his stomach and the other to cover his mouth. He could feel the bile rising, moving up his throat, threatening to spill out, demanding to, even. He felt a sudden chill, cold tugging at his fingers and cheeks in a persistent plea for him to free the nastiness that he could now feel against his teeth. But he resisted. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting his mind race, hoping his silent words would reach out; hoping Eiri would hear him thinking, I don’t want to mess this up, I don’t want to stop this, please, just let it happen, I want it to happen, I don’t really want to die, but I don’t care about dying, I just want to be with you, please, don’t make me stop, I just want to be with you, please, I just want to be with you, please, I just want to be with you, please, I just want to be with you, please-
He forced the bile down his throat with a hard swallow. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, feeling his body settle, feeling it accept the pills, the destruction. He went to the sink and splashed his burning face with water, rinsed his burning mouth with water, cooled his burning throat with water.
He moved into the bedroom. He didn’t know how long it would take to happen, but he knew that was where he wanted to be when it did. He crawled up into the bed, laid down on his stomach with his face pressed against the sheets where he imagined Eiri’s familiar scent was still faintly permeated. Shuichi loved this room. He loved this bed. He could still see the indention of where Eiri’s head would rest on his favorite pillow. He could still hear the angry grumble the novelist would emit when Shuichi was being too noisy in the morning. He could still feel Eiri’s hand-always cold; his hands were always cold-touching his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into that coldness, smiled when he could remember, even, how their bedtime kisses felt-soft and lingering, promising something more in the morning. He remembered everything wonderful about that spot, right there, in Eiri’s bed, with Eiri’s hand, with Eiri’s lips; and he let himself remember everything until the muscles of his neck, the fluttering eyelashes, the rise and fall of his chest, and every other part of his body grew slower and slower until, ultimately, all movement ceased.
Epilogue: Something Beautiful; or, a sad kind of happiness-
It was three years later and the sun wasn’t even up yet when Yuji, dressed in a freshly purchased tux and clean shoes, stepped out of his car and onto the gravel path in front of the Uesugi temple. Maiko greeted him, looking tired but cheerful, and she glowed when he remarked on the size of her bulging belly underneath her robe. He ran into Tatsuha in the corridor, who shook his hand and nodded towards the rear door saying, “He’s already out there.”
Yuji found Hiro kneeling in front of the stone monument. He squatted down beside him and laid down the bouquet of flowers he’d bought.
“I figured they could share,” he joked and Hiro chuckled. “Suguru’s asleep in the car. He’s annoyed we had to get up this early. And you know Ayaka’s parents are gonna be pissed if we’re late for the wedding.”
“We won’t be,” Hiro promised. “But you can’t expect me to go through with it without seeing my real best man.”
“And my feelings aren’t hurt at all.” Yuji sniffed, over-dramatic, and grinned. He let his eyes trace over the names engraved on the grave and sighed. “It’s still hard to believe it really happened. I never expected him to…”
“You didn’t?”
“No. Did you?”
Hiro shrugged and smiled faintly at the grave. “I think I did. From the moment Eiri did it.” He reached out and ran his fingers lightly over their names, right beside each other. “They were always meant to be. There was no way they wouldn’t end up together, somehow, in the end.” He let his hand fall to his side. “It’s hard to be sad about it, really. Shuichi wouldn’t have been happy any other way.”
Yuji watched his brother and felt proud of him. It took a good man to allow his best friend to find happiness, even if it meant losing him. And Hiro had done it twice. He felt like crying, but Hiro’s eyes weren’t even moist, so there was no reason for him to be so emotional. He cleared his throat and stood, turning his back. He looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was beginning to rise. Slowly the light filled the wide expanse above their heads and above the trees, and the lights-gentle gold and pink-shone through and came together in a big, broad union. And he did cry then, because it was so beautiful.
Back to Part Five
Fandom: Gravitation
Pairings: mainly Eiri/Shuichi, Shuichi/OC, Hiro/Ayaka, Yuji/Suguru, Tatsuha/Maiko
Rating: R, for content and language
Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH
A/N: IT'S FINISHED. Oh God, I can't believe it's actually finished. Part Six is actually the shortest chapter of them all. XD
Part Six: The Right Thing; or, what simply has to be done-
Ahmed was practicing with the band when Shuichi called. He was sweaty and talked excitedly about the new song they’d been working on, how they couldn’t wait for Shuichi to come back and learn it. And he’d apologized for being a jerk earlier, but said that he still thought Shuichi should concentrate more on the relationship he had in the present than on the one he had in the past. Shuichi didn’t say anything and eventually they were both silent, and Ahmed was getting worried.
“What’s going on, baby?” He asked, easing the nervousness out of his voice. “You coming home soon?”
“No,” Shuichi said after a pause. “Not really.”
“Oh. Well,” Ahmed sighed, trying to be cooperative. “That’s all right, I guess. We-”
“I don’t think,” Shuichi interjected quickly, and then hesitantly, “I’m coming back at all.”
Ahmed’s body stiffened and his pulse started to quicken with a feeling of dread and rejection.
“Why-why not? Is it something I…--why not?”
“I just…I have something I have to do, and I-”
“Well, why can’t you do it and then come home? Huh? Why not?” His voice was increasing in volume, and he could feel his band mates’ eyes on him.
“Because I can’t, okay, it isn’t that easy!”
“So what-what about the wedding?” He waited and waited for an answer, chest heaving, until he squeezed his eyes shut and smacked at his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Well-shit, fuck you!”
“Ahmed-”
“Fuck you!”
He closed his phone and threw it across the room. His band mates watched him crumple to his knees and they figured that practice was over for the day.
-
Shuichi slowly set his cell phone down on the coffee table, his leg shaking anxiously.
“Don’t-” He stopped and cleared his throat; his voice was too shaky and broken for his liking. He started again, “Don’t act like you aren’t happy I did that.”
He felt a cold brush against the side of his face in response. It encouraged him, and he took a deep breath, gathering his courage. He stood up quickly, forcing himself to move while he still had this resolve. He made his way, a little unsteadily, to the bathroom, shaking and fumbling and urgent fingers flinging open the medicine cabinet. He took a minute to locate the row of orange pill bottles, glanced over the labels, breathing in and out with a bit of a raspy strain. Desperation crept into his body then, rushing from his sock-clad toes to his hands, which quickly set to work grabbing the bottles and grappling, twisting the tops open, tilting the bottles onto his lips, tossing the pieces of white and red and brown onto his tongue, into his throat, missing a few in hastiness that tumbled down his neck and bounced off his shoulders. He didn’t know what pills they were and he didn’t care, as long as they would make him sick, sicker than he’d ever been before; as long as they would destroy him inside bit by bit, faster and faster-destroy all the parts, all the tangible parts, that hadn’t already been destroyed by time and English whispers in his ear.
When he finished, he scrambled to the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator door and grabbed each can of beer, one by one, popping open the tops and forcing himself to swallow the stinging, numbing, frothing alcohol. He dropped the last can to the floor before it was completely empty; he needed both hands, one to clutch at his stomach and the other to cover his mouth. He could feel the bile rising, moving up his throat, threatening to spill out, demanding to, even. He felt a sudden chill, cold tugging at his fingers and cheeks in a persistent plea for him to free the nastiness that he could now feel against his teeth. But he resisted. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting his mind race, hoping his silent words would reach out; hoping Eiri would hear him thinking, I don’t want to mess this up, I don’t want to stop this, please, just let it happen, I want it to happen, I don’t really want to die, but I don’t care about dying, I just want to be with you, please, don’t make me stop, I just want to be with you, please, I just want to be with you, please, I just want to be with you, please, I just want to be with you, please-
He forced the bile down his throat with a hard swallow. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, feeling his body settle, feeling it accept the pills, the destruction. He went to the sink and splashed his burning face with water, rinsed his burning mouth with water, cooled his burning throat with water.
He moved into the bedroom. He didn’t know how long it would take to happen, but he knew that was where he wanted to be when it did. He crawled up into the bed, laid down on his stomach with his face pressed against the sheets where he imagined Eiri’s familiar scent was still faintly permeated. Shuichi loved this room. He loved this bed. He could still see the indention of where Eiri’s head would rest on his favorite pillow. He could still hear the angry grumble the novelist would emit when Shuichi was being too noisy in the morning. He could still feel Eiri’s hand-always cold; his hands were always cold-touching his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into that coldness, smiled when he could remember, even, how their bedtime kisses felt-soft and lingering, promising something more in the morning. He remembered everything wonderful about that spot, right there, in Eiri’s bed, with Eiri’s hand, with Eiri’s lips; and he let himself remember everything until the muscles of his neck, the fluttering eyelashes, the rise and fall of his chest, and every other part of his body grew slower and slower until, ultimately, all movement ceased.
Epilogue: Something Beautiful; or, a sad kind of happiness-
It was three years later and the sun wasn’t even up yet when Yuji, dressed in a freshly purchased tux and clean shoes, stepped out of his car and onto the gravel path in front of the Uesugi temple. Maiko greeted him, looking tired but cheerful, and she glowed when he remarked on the size of her bulging belly underneath her robe. He ran into Tatsuha in the corridor, who shook his hand and nodded towards the rear door saying, “He’s already out there.”
Yuji found Hiro kneeling in front of the stone monument. He squatted down beside him and laid down the bouquet of flowers he’d bought.
“I figured they could share,” he joked and Hiro chuckled. “Suguru’s asleep in the car. He’s annoyed we had to get up this early. And you know Ayaka’s parents are gonna be pissed if we’re late for the wedding.”
“We won’t be,” Hiro promised. “But you can’t expect me to go through with it without seeing my real best man.”
“And my feelings aren’t hurt at all.” Yuji sniffed, over-dramatic, and grinned. He let his eyes trace over the names engraved on the grave and sighed. “It’s still hard to believe it really happened. I never expected him to…”
“You didn’t?”
“No. Did you?”
Hiro shrugged and smiled faintly at the grave. “I think I did. From the moment Eiri did it.” He reached out and ran his fingers lightly over their names, right beside each other. “They were always meant to be. There was no way they wouldn’t end up together, somehow, in the end.” He let his hand fall to his side. “It’s hard to be sad about it, really. Shuichi wouldn’t have been happy any other way.”
Yuji watched his brother and felt proud of him. It took a good man to allow his best friend to find happiness, even if it meant losing him. And Hiro had done it twice. He felt like crying, but Hiro’s eyes weren’t even moist, so there was no reason for him to be so emotional. He cleared his throat and stood, turning his back. He looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was beginning to rise. Slowly the light filled the wide expanse above their heads and above the trees, and the lights-gentle gold and pink-shone through and came together in a big, broad union. And he did cry then, because it was so beautiful.
Back to Part Five